


And the steady slip of Spring

by Jenwryn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Magic Revealed, Marriage, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two rings upon the king's left hand, and the gold gleams equally beneath candles and magic alike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the steady slip of Spring

The rich red of cloaks, knights dancing, ladies' dresses flung broad in golds and greens and blues, and the glint of silverware, beneath the light of candles and gleaming globes, set high and lit by magic. Colour and sound, spinning through the Throne Room, spinning through the rooms beyond and down the halls and into the night air of a brimming Camelot. Snow settles as the magic blooms; as stragglers slip through wide-flung gates to find welcome and beer in the town below. It's a show, it's a message, it's evidentiary, this, and the swell of the music is high and aching, as the room twirls with dancers and singers and the sure, weighted certainty of Arthur's hand at the small of Merlin's back. 

There are two rings up on the king's left hand, and the gold gleams equally beneath braided wicks and magic alike. 

Take a breath, and heave it in. Here, yes. The sound of Gwen laughing, and the feel of Arthur's hold gentling in response; the way he looks from you to her and smiles, smiles with a sweet ease he rarely shows beneath his crown, smiles until you laugh, because there is nothing else you can do, because the magic is already swollen enough, because your own head is light and brilliant. 

The heat of Arthur's touch, as he leads his husband amongst his people, as he meets their wife's grin in full. 

Midwinter, then. Midwinter, and the snow is high outside and glittering. There will be horses huddled together, and dogs at their shanks, by the fires the stable boys will have lit, and the well in the courtyard will be frozen and frosted, ice at its edges like spiders webbing high in the eaves of autumn. There will be servants in the hallways, bright in their own celebrations and fast in their cups, girls red-faced and laughing, boys slipping hands where hands should or should not be.

Hold it close, and taste it. 

Merlin rests into Arthur's embrace, feels the familiar shape of him against his clothes and through them. The muscles, as they dance. Merlin grins, rich and strong, with feelings he could put into words, but which he would rather put into dancing – would rather put into this body that he's somehow still alive in, he's somehow still here in, he's somehow still using to ward the ones he loves, and to place smooth lights above them. 

There is sweat at Arthur's lip, and Merlin wants to lean in and lick it. Merlin glances at Gwen, her eyes bright as she swings in Percival's arms, and he knows that she would like the same. Later, she and Merlin will take Arthur and press him down, will undress him in the warmth of their own chambers, will touch and love and take and give with hands and lips and grazing eyebrows. For now, though, for now, it is to dance. To dance. To tread. To twirl. To marvel in the celebration that hangs above them, that hangs between them; three creatures of destiny bound and wound and beating.

Merlin rubs his palms against Arthur's hips. Two rings of his own catch amongst the linen there; find purchase, make rest. The minnesingers' voices rise higher, notes reaching up to the magic above, and Merlin watches the swell of Gwen's belly as she moves in rhythm, glowing in the candles and the magic and the joy of the child within her, waiting, too, for the steady slip of spring, and the blooming of Albion.


End file.
